


thinking about clouds the color of fire

by blackwood (transjon)



Series: ace week jon ficlets [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Bathing/Washing, Canon Asexual Character, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sex Mentions, Sex-Repulsed Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, okay i dont think this has a tag. jons uncomfortable w the idea of getting a random boner., s5 oasis with salesa and annabelle, sort of. thats close ish. to what i meant.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:13:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood
Summary: “Okay,” Martin says, and goes to pull away but Jon’s hands fly up to grab his wrists so that he can’t. “What on Earth is going on?”“I don’t know,” Jon mumbles.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Series: ace week jon ficlets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987108
Comments: 16
Kudos: 222





	thinking about clouds the color of fire

**Author's Note:**

> okay god this truly doesnt have a tag i dont think? hopefully the freeform is good though?
> 
> cws here for,  
> \- allo partner tries to be very helpful re: validation, idk how well he succeeds,  
> \- discussions of unwanted sexual physical reactions & distress over them,  
> \- allo partner makes a joke about unplanned sex not being smth that should be a worry, w/ the joke being that its silly as a concept because they dont have sex
> 
> title is from shasta / carries song by vienna teng

Martin dips his hand into the water. 

“Is it warm?” Jon asks, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe. 

“It’s good,” Martin confirms, and sheds his own bathrobe. One foot goes in the tub, then the other. He sits down. Jon keeps standing on the other side of the bathroom. “Jon?”

“Huh?” he asks. Shakes his head like a dog. “Sorry. Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to get in?”

Jon looks down at himself, then. His bare feet. His ankles. His shins. The edge of the bathrobe. Martin watches, chest deep in the warm, soapy water as Jon’s gaze travels and skips around. Finally it settles on Martin, a helpless look on Jon’s face. 

“Right, right,” he mutters. He takes a step forward, and then another, but he stops before he can reach the tub. 

“What’s wrong?” Martin asks. He’s getting a little nervous. “Do you not want to get in? Do you want to take a bath alone instead?”

“No,” Jon says, scandalized, like he can’t believe Martin would even suggest it, “no! It’s just,” he grimaces, “it’s nothing.”

“Well, obviously it’s something. Come on. Just say it.”

Jon grumbles, does a little reluctant dance in place. The slap of his bare feet on the tile. His toes curl, uncurl. “What if something weird happens?” he finally asks.

“What? Like, your body disintegrates as soon as you hit the water?”

“No,” Jon says, but he smiles a bit. “Like,” he makes a face, and then a quick jerk-off motion with his hands. Another awkward dance. 

Martin starts laughing. “I don’t think we’re about to have tub sex, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says. 

“No,” Jon denies. There’s a look on his face, half guilt, half embarrassment. “But there might be, ah. A physical reaction –”

“I don’t think I’m awake enough for that,” Martin says. “Unless you mean yourself.”

Jon grumbles and looks away. He _did_ mean himself, then.

“I don’t know how to help you with that,” Martin says, earnestly. “If you don’t want to get in the tub then don’t, but you should tell me now, because if you’re not getting in I’m lying down in this tub.”

“You might drown,” Jon mumbles, but he approaches, closer still. He dips two fingers into the water, as well, and shudders, pleased. “It _is_ warm.”

“I wouldn’t be in here if it wasn’t.”

Jon’s entire face scrunches up decisively. “I’m going to get in.”

“Alright,” Martin says, smiling. He pulls his knees closer to his chest, moves backwards until his back is flush with the edge of the tub. He watches as Jon carefully, neatly takes off his bathrobe, one arm at a time, and then instead of the white of the bathrobe Martin’s looking at his skinny body, no longer covered in dirt, but still peppered with scars and the telltale signs of his six months of death. 

“Hi,” Martin says. Handsome, he wants to say, but doesn’t. Just in case it makes Jon uncomfortable. Just in case it’s too much. He doesn’t mind, usually, just as long as it doesn’t get sexual, but Martin’s not sure what will read to him that way right now. If he should just be looking away completely. 

Jon, suddenly visibly embarrassed, looks away, and then carefully climbs into the tub, hands on each edge of it for balance. There’s a little splash when he sits down, but mostly his descent is silent. Martin wraps his arms around Jon’s middle and pulls him closer.

“Hi,” Jon finally says back. He’s tense. 

“Okay,” Martin says, and goes to pull away but Jon’s hands fly up to grab his wrists so that he can’t. “What on Earth is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Jon mumbles. “It’s been so long since I had to think about any of this.”

“Well,” Martin starts. Doesn’t know how to finish the question. Turns it around in his mouth until something dislodges. It doesn’t work. 

“This place is,” Jon sighs, “it’s really making me feel _human_ again.”

“Presence or lack of sexual response to something or anything doesn’t have anything to do with humanity,” Martin tries, voice going up at the end in question. 

“I know that,” Jon says dismissively, half ire, half amusement. “Just meant that it means all the physical reactions I don’t particularly care for are happening again. Sneezing. Hunger. All that.”

“Right, right,” Martin hurries to say, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jon says. He leans back. This time his body relaxes a little bit as soon as he makes contact with Martin’s chest. “Just don’t like it.”

“You can just ignore it, though, right?” Martin asks. One hand goes to wrap around Jon’s waist carefully. 

“Mm,” Jon agrees. Fidgets. “Doesn’t mean I’ll like it.”

Martin presses a kiss into his hair, gentle and soft. “Right,” he says. “I’m sorry, love.”

Jon hums noncommittally. “What’s the bubbles?” he asks, done with the topic. 

Martin shrugs. “They just appeared.”

Jon gathers some in his hands. Martin watches over his shoulder as he does. Jon, so close to him, still smells like sleep and cotton sheets. “What do they smell like to you?” he asks.

Jon gently smushes the bubbles between his palms. “Citrus,” he says slowly. “Little bit of lavender.”

“Weird combination,” Martin murmurs. His lips touch Jon’s ear, press a kiss there. “Wonder which one of them picked it.”

Jon smiles, as if he’s turning the thought over in his head. Like each answer is equally delightful. “Do you like it?”

“It’s nice,” Martin admits. “Isn’t lavender supposed to be relaxing, though? And citrus awakening?”

Jon shrugs, and then hums, and then shrugs again. Martin can’t see his face well enough to be able to tell what face he’s making. “Funny,” he says slowly. Maybe smiling, then.

“Maybe they cancel each other out,” Martin guesses. “Completely neutralized.”

Jon chuckles. Muscle by muscle his body relaxes, slowly but with quiet confidence, until he’s leaning heavily back into Martin, until he’s almost pulling Martin underwater. 

Martin wraps his arms around Jon’s waist firmly. Jon lets him, and then crosses his legs. Uncrosses them again. Falls further against Martin, impossibly, boneless and catlike, submerged in the warm, soapy water, all fruit and florals. All Jon.


End file.
